Crabbit Faery Tales and Folk Tales of Forumshire

I love it. Always good to get to explore hitherto unseen corners of Forumshire.

I'm thinking of decorating my Hole in time for yule, could do with a spruce up

Dear Pure Publications, courtesy of Mr Tyrant, I think we might need to have a little talk about the standard terms of your distribution contract. Specifically in relation to Regulation 2016/679.

As the Data protection officer of this little Shire I would like to be made aware of the reason and justifications for claimed legitimacy of Pure Publication's handling of the personal data of clients. I quote the standard contract:

"*Pure Publications reserves the right to track your usage of this publication, snoop on your home address, go through your bins and sell personal information on to the highest bidder."

I await your response with temerity, tranquility and trepidation.

Yours sincerely,

Eat a Peach,

Mr Blue Bottle, esq
tsc pp cc eqc ad nf dd pcc obem

Ah, haha, I wrote that because when I hit last read post one came up with you talking about Pure Publications and the contract terms, turns out that wasn't the last thread post however. Seems I have missed some installments

{{Just a heads up the next chapter of this story should be up either tomorrow or Tuesday at the latest- I know its been ages- life! So incase anyone wants to reread the last chapter to remember what the buggery it was about I thought I'd let you know more is on the way! }}}

I'm glad to hear that this tale will be continuing.

Oooooh goodie !

{{Um, yes this Wednesday I meant obviously!! Bloody snow!!! }}}

Wednesday will be perfect, that's when WE will have snow.

halfwise wrote:Wednesday will be perfect, that's when WE will have snow.

Why couldn't it be Thursday instead? Last week the winds caused the campus to close on Friday, the day after my once-a-week class, now the snow is coming a day early? Damn weather.

{{My these Wednesdays fly by!!!  I swear 80% of this has been done for ages, but trying to find the time for the other 20%  But got there finally- hopefully not so long to the next one this time- sorry!! }}



{{edit add as its been so long since the last part and in light of Halfy's comment below- }}


The story so far-  Upon his death bed Paw McTyrant, owner of Forumshire's prestigious Buckie Factory, gave ownership to his evil and manipulative daughter Pretty, disinheriting his oldest son Petty in the process, a feckless but harmless idiot.
Spurred on however by Halfwise, a talking ball of fur Petty had wrongly thought was his fathers mutant pet haggis, to reclaim his rightful inheritance they set off together- with Halfwise astride a fine pair of boots and upon stilts under an old suit of Paws- on a plan to gain the favour of the only person who can help Petty regain his right, the Admin of Forumshire herself Amarie.
Halfwise explains his plan to Petty to take her a gift of such unique and personal meaning that she will be swayed to their cause but Petty fails to grasp the steps involved though he does notice every time it costs his sporran.
To this end Halfwise first tried to aid Petty in gaining information on the Admins likes and dislikes from the Admin's neighbour Odo Banks, but this ended in failure when Petty made a complete mess of the plan.
Following a lead that an eel wrangler might have such knowledge they then attempted to enter Mrs Figg's Shoppe for Discreete Ladies, unfortunately Mrs Figg's shop proved hard to find and was only open to women of a certain age in any case. Leading to the necessity of dressing Petty up as a woman as well as the tricky business of locating an invisible door.
Once again however he failed miserably, finding the door but failing to get any information at all from Mrs Figg when her ginger tom cat sniffed him out and revealed him to be, just about, a man. Resulting in his frying by electric eel and being thrown from the shop, leaving Halfwise no choice but to drag up and show Petty how it should be done.....







“Well, how do I look kiddo?”


They were once more standing outside the clothes shop and the earlier bustle of the day was lessening around them as the afternoon wore on towards closing time.


Petty considered Halfwise's question. Words were not Petty's strong point, unless they were slurred, hurled drunkenly or ranted crabbitly, so he was a little stuck as to how best to describe what he was looking at. What he was looking at was a large ball of fur with bright eyes staring out from between the brim of a huge floppy hat with a feather in it and the high stiffly starched neck collar of a very modest deep purple dress.


Halfwise had modified things a bit in the shop and the dresses arms now contained some sort of stuffing and tubing which allowed him, from his position perched at the head to have limited movement of the arms, they ended in a pair of white cloth gloves which he could operate via a cunning series of wires and pulleys and springs.


Indeed if you just considered the dress, with its fine bowed bustle, and the hat with feather you had the very image of discreet womanhood of a certain age and class. The problem, and it was a big one Petty thought, was the fact Halfwise was still, undisputedly, a ball of fur in a dress.


“Um,” Petty said slowly, “yi look like yi've run away frae the Bearded Lady tent at the circus,” he concluded “fir huvin' tae big a beard.”


“I've thought of that,” Halfwise retorted and shook himself which caused the hat to shake too and from it a veil unfurled dropping down in front of his bright eyes and covering his hairy being.


“Ah cun still see yir'e hairy through it,” Petty commented dryly, “yon Figg's is goona see it tae.”


“I know,” Halfwise said walking in his long silted stride along the row of shops, “I'm counting on it kiddo.”

“Whit?” Petty said confused as ever.


“Woman of a certain age, with an unsightly facial hair problem. Where else would I go with such an embarrassing social condition but to a shop for discreete ladies?”


“But whur ur wi going tae noo?” Petty asked as he realised Halfwise was not leading them towards Figg's shop which was across the square but along the row.


“The Fishmongers.”


“Whit?” Petty contributed, finding new levels of confusion, “whit wi going thur fur?”


Halfwise stopped abruptly and spun round, pivoting on a singe stilt to face Petty, “Fish, obviously,” he barked and then pivoted back round in one smooth half circular turn and strode on.










Ten minutes later they were back outside of Figg's front door, or at least they hoped they were. Petty had a sporran overflowing with fish.


“Right kiddo, you go down that alleyway and find a way into the back yard and signal me if you can see that cat, got it?”


“Aye,” Petty nodded and then hesitated, “bit whit if yon moggies noo there?”


“Then you have to try and lure it out with the fish, lay a trail or something.”


“Richt,” Petty nodded patting the fish. He scuttled off down the alley which was narrow and mainly contained bins. He followed the gable end of Figg's shop to where it ended and a wooden fence began. The rear yard of the shop was it seemed quite large, and though Petty could not see over the top of the fence he could see the roofs of sheds and outhouses and hear a series of odd watery gurgling noises. Eventually he found a gate, as tall as the fence, it had a latch and a notice pinned to the wood which read “No Entry. Bugger off even if you are a tradesmen. Guild of Eel Wranglers only!”
Petty ignored this and flicked up the latch and opened the gate enough to poke his head through and peer inside.


The cat was sitting on the windowsill at the back of the house above a bobbing row of bright yellow flowers that grew in a window box. There was a wide space of washed flagstones behind the shop and then a series of round wooden open topped drums, some up to six foot across from within which came odd gurgling and occasional splashes. These in turn where connected by an implausibly complicated looking series of pipes and hoses to a large shed with smaller sheds either side of it which backed against the high rear red brick wall of the yard.


Petty eyed up the cat and waved the fish at it, “'Hey, pussy,” he hissed, and then tearing off a strip of the fish he threw it in the cat's direction, it landed wetly with a slap on the flagstones and the cat's yellow eyes darted towards it. It stretched on the sill, arched its back and then heavily hopped down onto the flagstones nose twitching but eyes glancing round warily. When nothing intervened it pounced on the strip of fish and began eating with a low heavy purr.


Petty grinned and stuck his head back out the gate and gave a big thumbs up to Halfwise and a broad grin. He went back into the yard, the strip of fish was almost completely devoured, Petty tore off a second piece and threw it down near to the cat. It growled up at Petty but then went to the second piece of fish and hunching protectively over it with one glaring eye on Petty in case he might want it back, began to eat.


Petty was feeling smug with himself, this would show Halfwise he was capable. It was then he noticed the various fishing nets that were laid out on a rack in front of the shed and the poles of bamboo that held up some runner beans that grew against the inside of the fence. He glanced at the cat and a grin formed amid his boils and blemishes, he had had an idea! Not only was he going to show Halfwise he was competent enough to distract the cat, he was going to prove just how smart he was too and catch it in a cunning trap.


As it would turn out he was exactly right about proving just how smart he was.








Halfwise acknowledged Petty's thumbs up and disturbing smile which opened like a crevice in a lava field and pivoted neatly round and strode on his stilts towards the shop door, which though he couldn't see he had at least memorised the location of.


A bell tinkled as he pushed open the suddenly clear door and he entered the dimly and discreetly lit surrounds of Mrs Figg's Emporium.
As Petty had done before him he wound his way through the displays of non-priced goods, the odd clutter of furniture, subtle lighting, even subtler smells (with just the faint hint of cat) and a lot of bulky rectangular objects of various sizes with exotic cloths draped over them. Like everything in the shop Halfwise was not sure what was decoration and what was for sale. He did however eventually find the counter and Mrs Figg rummaging about behind it with her back to him, he coughed politely from beneath his veil to attract her attention.


Figg stood up startled and turned to him, “Oh sorry dear, had my head in a box didn't hear the bell go. What can I do for you?” she paused and squinted at Halfwise's face shaded as it was beneath the beard.


Halfwise decided not to stall on his reasoning but to use her look as his excuse to immediately broach the subject, “I can see you have already noticed the malady which has afflicted me in my maturer years,” he said in his best high female tones- of which he was rather proud having learned whilst having to play a Doll in Guys and Dolls for two years after a complicated series of events in his youth, “I have to wear this veil to stop children taunting me and men turning from me in disgust. I do so hope you can help me.”


Figg nodded, “Lets have a brew,” she suggested and sitting down, and indicating Halfwise should do likewise, even if it did first involve moving some boxes from the only available chair on his side of the counter and getting into a chair- none of which was easy for someone trying to operate a dress made of tubing from the inside. Meanwhile Figg went about pouring two cups of tea from a fine porcelain teapot, “I have to say as I ain't seen a case quick like yours, though similar, just not so,” she hesitated to consider her words and sipped her tea, “all over,” she settled on, “but I reckon the treatments the same.”


“Then you can help me?” Halfwise enthused, “I would be so grateful, had it not been for the kindness of Ambassador Amarie.”

“The Ambassador?” Figg interrupted.


“Oh yes,” Halfwise went on, “she has been very caring and kind to me, I only wish I had some ways to repay such kindness.”


“Yes, “ Figg agreed with a degree of cunning that would have impressed her cat, “I hears often these days about how kind the Ambassador is,” she took another sip of her tea and eyed up Halfwise till it made him uncomfortable, “Fjordian Fire Eels!” she suddenly cried, causing Halfwise to involuntary jump and spill hot tea on himself, which was a pity as it had taken him till now to move his awkwardly made pipe tube arms and pull on all the necessary wires he had installed to manipulate the glove hand to grasp the teacup and bring it anywhere near his face. He had only just succeeded. Now he was wearing it.


“Pardon!” he squeaked as the hot tea seeped through his fur to what was below.


“Fjordian fire eels, extract of gall and a dash of this and that and should soon burn that extra fuzz right off.”


“Um, did you say burn?” Halfwise enquired trying to maintain his feminine tones over the worry in his voice.


“Oh not all at once,” Figg said getting up and coming out from behind her desk, “not hot, hot, more of a long slow burn once it prepared, gets a bit nippy, but be worth it in your case,” she said sidling past Halfwise towards the rows of patterned drapes, “now where's my pussy got to?” she mused as she grabbed a diamond design drape in one firm hand, “I likes to know where he is when I'm popping out for a minute,” she said as she jerked the cloth down revealing beneath it a large oil painting depicting a street market next to a small fishing harbour somewhere rural and unremarkable beneath a dull grey sky, “ah there we go.”


“Um, very nice, bit dull though,” Halfwise remarked carefully easing himself upwards on his stilts out of the chair and feeling like he had lost hold of this conversation somewhere and it had run off on its own.


“Fjordian, famous painter he was, his name translates as Odin's Angryavalanche. You ever wonder why all the great painters every so often paint something dull as ditch water?”


“Um, no, not really,” Halfwise replied cautiously, still trying to find a bit of conversation he felt he could jump back onto.


“They paint great battles, famous folks strutting it in their fancy pants, ladies of the court, mistresses of the fancy men with no pants at all, great mountains with brooding clouds, magnificent seascapes with towering waves and great ships upon them, stuff folks interested in, that you don't see everyday,” she tapped the Fjordian painting which was slightly taller than she was, “and then they go paint some little town scene, or a harbour maybes, or some market place, a piece of total boring mundaneness, common old everyday life you can see for yerself if you just stick yer head out of the window and look,” she turned to Halfwise with a grin he really did not like the look of, “now why do you suppose they go do that then?”


“I, really have no idea,” Halfwise said hesitantly.


“Then I'll tell you, its so those who know how can do this!” and grabbing Halfwise by the scruff of his dress at the high neck collar she threw him at the painting. There was a flash of bright light which when it subsided did so to reveal that they were standing on a cobble road beside a small nondescript harbour where two plain and uninteresting fishing boats bobbed, and nearby a small market was taking place under a very dull and uninteresting grey sky.


Halfwise blinked, “Um, hey, am I inside a painting?”


“Looks that way doesn't it,” Figg remarked, “but not exactly, your not inside the painting, your actually here, or there depending on hows your looking at it.”


“And here is where exactly?”


“Where he painted it of course.”


“So we are in Fjordianland?”


“Spot on.”


“We've moved?”


“Sort of moved. My shops right there, not a foot away and Fjordianlands here, take is as it is I say. Besides you shouldn't be worrying about the moving, more that this painting was made more than two hundred years ago,” Figg reminded him as she led them towards the bright canopies of the market stalls.


“We're in Fjordianland, two hundred years ago?” Halfwise gasped.


“Now yer getting it.”


“Ok,” Halfwise took a deep breath, it contained salt sea air, “can we get to the how and why now?”


Figg laughed as she led them between the first two stalls, “There's more to eel-wrangling than most folks think.”


“I think most folks think there is quite a lot to it already actually,” Halfwise responded.


“We do like to give that impression, and it's true most of the time,” Figg went on, “but you needs other skills beside wrangling, that's fine for eels and courts and princes and princesses, the rich the powerful, a good wrangler will do just fine in that company, but you needs to get your hands on stuff that sometimes ain't so easy to acquire. Ingredients and such like for the wrangling. And the other Guilds, well they've got their secrets just like the Wranglers Guild do ours, and when I was a gal in Italiashire I got interested in art, and what with my wrangling skills soon got to know their Guild secrets too. This being one of the bigger ones you might say. The dull paintings are painted for a purpose. “


“I had no idea,” Halfwise commented.


“Most folk don't, Guild secret. And there's other ways some Wranglers use, music works, words too but they are trickier, nothing is at good as art in my book, you get straight to the point because you can walk right in. Commissioned this one myself.”


“Two hundred years ago?” Halfwise asked surprised.


“I said was when I was still a gal,” Figg snorted annoyed.


“So if you commissioned it, why paint here?”


“See this market, eel market and that stall ahead of us?”


“Yeah.”


“That's where we get what we need, gall of the red fire eel, they're extinct now sadly.”


“We are here for supplies?”


“Do you want cured my dear or not?” Figg demanded putting her hands firmly on her hips.


“Why of course I do!” Halfwise retorted, only now realising that whilst he had maintained the voice out of practised habit and on auto-pilot he had in his shock at events forgotten completely he was supposed to be a woman with a distressing facial hair problem. Figg's question had prodded him back to alertness.


“Right then, I'll need some money, this stuff isn't cheap,” Figg paused and then in moment of candour added, “actually here and now it's dirt cheap, but you ain't paying here and now prices, you're paying my shop prices and my shop is our time so that's our time prices. And what with inflation from now till then and the fact your purchasing what will by then be the gall of an extinct species, so very rare indeed,” she alleviated Halfwise of a sizeable chunk of Petty's buckie savings, “that should do it,” she said and a moment later she came away from the stall with something vile looking in a jar of fluid.


She led them back out of the stall and towards the area of cobbled harbour they had first appeared and then stopping she rounded on Halfwise and began to slowly unscrew the lid of the jar, “Right then shall we just get this slapped on then?”


“What just like that?” Halfwise grimaced at the purple wobbly thing Figg was trying to fish from its watery jar, “doesn't it need any preparation? So it doesn't burn you said?”


“Well it'll work either way, just be a mite hotter like this,” Figg said.


“Um so why would I want to do that?”


“Because I'm the only way back out of this place and I assume you want that, and because if you are a lady with an over abundance of facial hair then I'm the ruddy Queen of Forumshire,” she snarled, “and I don't even like golf.”


“Ah,” Halfwise sagged, dropping the voice, “you noticed then?”


“Your arms are just that dress stuffed with old papers and tubing with some gloves stuck on the end and from how you walk I reckon you're on stilts, watching you try to get in my chair was funny enough but I damn near wee'd myself watching you try to drink tea, how do you do the grabbing, you got some sort of wires in there?”


“Yeah,” Halfwise said, tugging on some wires and making his pretend left hand lift up and grasp and ungrasp.


“Very clever but you ain't fooling no one I suspect, and certainly not me, you must have thought I buttoned up the back. But I mean it about this,” she said holding up the jar with its blubbery contents, “I want to know who you are and what you want with me or this goes on, I don't know what's under all that fur but I ain't afraid to find out. Are you?”


“Fine” Halfwise sighed pulling some more wires and raising both arms in mock surrender, “My real name is Halfwise,” he sighed, “could you take this veil off, it s a bit awkward,” he plaintively waved an awkward tube arm at her.


She nodded and stepping forward whipped the veil and the hat from him revealing him in all his furry glory.


“Thought as much, met one of you lot before, Figwit or Figgit or something I think he called himself.”


“Hey, he's my cousin, both of them, we used to shoot pool together.”


Figg blinked trying to picture this, “That must have been interesting to see.”


“He always won, how is he?”


“Was doing well, twenty-five years ago.”


“Ah, I see.”


“Your lot are teachers, ain't you? Get put with some sap needs a lift up, and some right set wrong and you set them on the path, give them what they need to overcome themselves and all that stuff, bit of a Fairy God Furball ain't you?”


“Hey, like you say, all Guilds have their secrets.”


“And what's this one got to do with our Amarie? Can't just have you doing mysterious Guild things with the Admin of all Forumshire, not that she needs help taken care of herself mind.”


“I just need to get the person I am helping her approval, I need to know something really special, something personal to her that no-one else would think to get her as a gift, and I thought...”


“You thought an eel wrangler would know if anyone did, you think I can wrangle the Admin of Forumshire?” she said raising an eyebrow, “get out the secrets of a Council Member of the Dark Planet?”


Halfwise considered Figg, “Yeah,” he said finally.


“Well you'd be right, very disciplined that one,” she added with an eyebrow wiggle and Halfwise was very glad his fur disguised the shade of red he had gone as went Figg went on, “and seeing as I just cheerily ripped you off for an eel gall you don't actually need and because I am about to do it again for what you do actually need, I'll let you off with the deceit on one condition.”


“Ok, what condition?”


“That you never tell anyone there was a man in my shop! Be bad for business. So when you leave you do it in that ridiculous disguise and you can go out the back, agreed?”

“Agreed.”


“Right, well lucky for you there's a harbour in this painting,” she marched over to the nearest of the small fishing vessels and after a brief exchange of words and an even larger exchange of more of Petty's buckie money, she returned with a small bucket of ice containing blubbery things.


“So what's that?” Halfwise enquired.


“That is half of the ingredients you will need to make,” she paused to take a deep breath, “skitten råtten stinker høyere enn Odins underbukser, skremmende overraskelse fisken glede i en kremaktig curdled saus,” she heaved in a huge lung full of air.


“It's what?”


“Food, the sort you only get in the one small village Admin Amarie grew up in in Fjordianland, incredibly rare, a very local delicacy. Mainly 'cause anyone not local and in their right mind, and who hadn't been raised since birth on the stuff wouldn't go near it. But I so happen to know she adores this stuff above all else but she can hardly ever get hold of it. You give her this she won't forget it in a hurry.”


She strode back to the unremarkable bit of harbour they had materialised from and raised her hand, there was another flash of light and Halfwise blinked, they were back in Mrs Figg's dimly lit shop.


“I hope my pussy hasn't got into any mischief,” Figg said and handed Halfwise the bucket of fish.


“You said this was half of what I need?” Halfwise reminded her, “do you have the other half?”


“Nope,” Figg said looking round behind the desk for her cat and then sticking her head through the door which led to the large kitchen beyond, “But I knows who does. Here boy,” she cried quickly grabbing a quill from the counter and dashing down on a sheet of parchment something in list form, then still calling for her cat went into the kitchen. Halfwise followed her.


There was a loud crash from the yard outside and a hiss from a cat followed by a yelp a cry, a second louder thud, one “oh bugger it!” and a lot of swearing, a noise that sounded like 'sproing' followed by “bugger it, bugger it, bugger it!”some more yelping, a splash and a sound like 'zap!” followed by more yelping.


The large ginger cat hopped up onto the windowsill and squeezed through the open window above looking happy and smug and with a large fish in its mouth.


“Where you get that boy?” Figg frowned, “Whose out there?” she called at more yelping and thumping sounds for without, “whose been feeding my pussy?”


With an all too familiar sinking feeling Halfwise followed Figg out into the yard beyond. It took only a glance for Halfwise to ascertain what they had missed. There was a long stick wedged into the base of a water barrel and attached to it was a net which must originally have been set on the ground with the stick bent over, ready to spring back on anything enterting the net, capturing it and sending it flying up to be deposited, still within the net, into the barrel itself.


With a very resigned feeling of foreknowledge Halfwise's eyes turned upwards to the top of the barrel where a wet, netted and occasional blue from electrocution by eel Petty was grasping the barrel's edge.


“Oh, eh, hi Halfwise! A didnae suppose yi cud see yir way tae maebes letting me doon, please!” he cried as a bolt of electricity surged through him extending his hair outwards.


“You are with him?” Figg said incredulously.


“He is the one I'm assigned to teach,” Halfwise shrugged wearily.


“Oan the plus side, ma trap worked like a charm,” Petty cried as a passing eel slapped him full of electricity again making his teeth click together.


“Now that's a short straw if I ever saw one, “Figg remarked, “We better get him down before he frightens my eels to death,” she added with some annoyance.


Once the water logged and gently smoking Petty was cut from his netting and recovered Halfwise once again thanked Figg for her help, adding, “but there is the matter of the other half of the recipe? You said you know who could help.”


“You'll find her at the harbour, can't miss her, be the only Fjordian Viking vessel in dock.”


“And who am I looking for?”


“The one that swearing the most,” Figg grinned, “she will be able to get you what you need, for a price,” she handed Halfwise the piece of parchment, “here's the recipe and how to make it,” she glanced down at Petty who as recuperating on the floor by occasionally twitching and moaning, “you sure he is worth it?”


“No,” Halfwise sighed, “but thwarting his sister is.”


“And who might she be?”


“Pretty Tyrant.”


“Oh her,” Figg said with a grimace, “you should have said that at the beginning. Can't stand that blown up plastic manufactured vacuous cow. I'd have given you what you need for nothing if you'd just said.”


“What?” Halfwise gasped thinking of all Petty's buckie money he had spent and the fact he had still to inform Petty of this.


“Still, too late now,” Figg smiled happily, “You two can go out the back gate so as no one sees you, and remember, you were never in my shop.”


She ushered Halfwise and Petty, who crawled most of the way, out of the rear entrance before Halfwise could mount a protest, “was very nice meeting you, and especially nice doing business with you, just don't ever come back!” she said and slammed the gate closed and bolted it on the other side.


“That wunt well,” Petty observed, “did it go well?”


Halfwise sighed, “Come on Kiddo, we are going to the harbour.”


“Whit fir?”


“If I explained it to you would it actually make any difference?”


Petty considered this, “Nah, probably noo,” he conceded, “considering A've nae idea why wi've done oany o' this stuff sae far.”


“That's what I thought kiddo,” Halfwise said striding off, “that's what I thought.”

I'm afraid I've lost track of what the plan is all about. Nice ride though.

Love it. Great stuff Petty; I'm really happy to see this tale continue! {{{Thought it means I have even less of an excuse for letting my writing languish. }}}

halfwise wrote:I'm afraid I've lost track of what the plan is all about.    Nice ride though.

Their goal is to find a gift for Admin Amarië that she would enjoy so much, it would convince her to help Petty win the buckie factory from Pretty. Similar to the plot of the original Puss in Boots where Puss brings the King gifts to win his favor, though who knows what twists and turns may lie ahead in this Forumshire version.

{{That about sums it up Eldo   And shorter than my edit add recap! }}

Harbours tend to attract certain adjectives; bustling, heaving, crowded, industrious, they even attract phrases like hive of activity, dens of inequity and evoke thoughts of tall masts clambered upon by nimble seaman, ringing ships bells, sailory cries of ahoy and over complicated ways of saying left and right, dark alleyways, looming warehouses.

The best adjective you could say of the Forumshire docks was 'fishy'. It was not a bustle of folk, there were two ships in dock, one a small fishing vessel with it's crew unloading a stack of fish gleaming from their nets, and a larger obviously Viking ship- no other ships had that distinct long low profile with the rearing dragon prow, and most ships were not bedecked in shining shields, and rather worryingly as Halfy and Petty approached, what looked like small shrunken heads mounted on poles dotted along the decking.

“Whit ur wi here fir?” Petty grumbled, “Mair fish? Thur's noo mair pussies invulved in yir plans is thur?” he added worriedly.

“No more cats,” Halfy said firmly, “we need to buy some ingredients.”

Petty eyed up the two ships as they drew nearer, fortunately the fishing vessel was docked closer to them than the ominous Viking vessel but his relief at that was short-lived when Halfwise strode right by the fishermen and made a bee-line for the Vikings.

“Ah thought wi needed tae buy supplies?” Petty enquired worriedly and confused.

“We do, from the Vikings.”

“Aye, richt,” Petty said jokingly. But Halfy seemed deadly serious. They stopped just short of the dragon headed prow and Halfy tuned to Petty, “I think its best you stay right here kiddo, I am just going to go talk to their Captain.”

“Gud idea,” Petty nodded eagerly in agreement, “thus is as close tae the sea as I like tae get.”

“You don't like the sea”?

“Naw, it's jist like a big bath and a dinnae like baths either.”

“No kidding,” Halfy said, this was not a surprise as he had a sensitive nose and had spent the entire time with Petty so far with it wrinkled beneath his fur, “wait for me here.”

Halfwise strode off in his stilted gait and Petty sat on the ground and moped and tried to work out what on earth he was doing. Keep it simple Petty he coaxed himself, Halfy is going to get your Paw's factory back from Pretty and put you in charge. That was good, he felt quite smug with himself, that was simple and nice and clear. With renewed belief in his reasoning powers he thought on. To get him his factory back they had to get Admin Amarie to back him. Another clear and simple thought. This was going very well indeed, he charged on.
To get Amarie on-side they had annoyed that tight-bottomed Odo Banks which had led them to an eel-wrangler shop where he had to dress as a woman then got attacked by a cat and electrocuted by eels, and that in turn had somehow led them here, to Vikings and all this was because..,because..,well um... His thought clattered together in a mental pile up and steamed in a small wreck. And one familiar thought arose from it, bugger.


A short while later Halfwise returned looking a little apprehensive. Which was no surprise to Petty as throughout his time waiting, though unable to make out individual words, the sounds of swearing had drifted from the ship with their distinct audible patterns.

“Hey kiddo,” he said and grinned suspiciously.

“A taik it it didnae go well thun? Ah heard aw the cursing.”

“Oh no, the Vikings were fine, that's just Capitan Norc,” he grinned again and then went on casually, “how to do you feel about a little sea voyage?”

Petty leapt up from his seated position, “Aw nooo, um noo going on yon great thing,” he waved a panicky arm in the vague direction of the vessel.

“You won't go on the boat?”

“Naw," Petty waved his arm encompassing more area, “the sea!”

“We need to get this ingredient, and the Viking don't have it, but they can take us to get it but it turns out it's,” Halfy hesitated, “rare.”

“Rare? How rare?” Petty queried suspiciously.

“Well, it seems that,” he paused to manipulate Figg's ingredients list up to his eyes, “'Is Trollene Sor Harete Pokker' is not so easy to lay your hands on, assuming you have hands.”

“How cum? Whit is it?”

Halfy paused in reluctance, “We have to get the testicle of an Ice Troll.”

Petty blinked, “A dinnae think he'll wunt tae gie us wan.”

“I don't think we ask first kiddo.”

“Sae yi wunt us,” Petty began.

“You,” Hafy corrected and Petty frowned.

“Yi want me,” he began again, “ta go, oan a Viking ship tae frozen Fjordianland, tae rip the baws aff a troll?”

“That's about the size of it kiddo.”

“I'll be in the pub,” Petty said firmly and turned to leave.

“Hold on kiddo,” Halfy said striding after him and manipulating a stuffed arm at Petty's shoulder, “we're nearly there, get this and you can get that buckie factory, buckie for life.”

Petty hesitated, he turned to Halfwise and stared him in his furry face, “If A try tae rip the bawsack aff a troll I'll noo huve a life.”

“You won't be doing it alone,” Halfy persuaded, “the Vikings have agreed to help you.”

“Why wud they dae thut?”

“Because I promised to pay them a great deal of money if they do.”

“Whose money?”

“Yours,” Halfy admitted.

“How much?!”

“I'd hazard about everything you have left.”

Petty clutched his sporran, “That's aw ma buckie money!” he cried horrified.

“An investment,” Halfy retorted.

“In whit?”

"Buckie for life, Petty,” Halfy intoned like a hypnotic command, “buckie for life. On tap, twenty-four hours a day. And no more Pretty ruining your life.”

Petty wavered, “But a cannae, A cunnae go oan that?” he said pointing to the vessel.

“Why not?”

“I cunnae swim,” Petty confessed.

“I'm not expecting you to swim to Fjordianland kiddo, that's what the boats for. Come on, you can do this, then no more Pretty and all the buckie you can drink.”

“Yi better be richt aboot this,” Petty grumbled, but reluctantly he followed back to the ship and boarded her.

“Yi want me,” he began again, “ta go, oan a Viking ship tae frozen Fjordianland, tae rip the baws aff a troll?”

“That's about the size of it kiddo.”

“I'll be in the pub,” Petty said firmly and turned to leave.

Petty sat upon a low bunk bed in the semi-darkness below decks whilst the Viking ship ploughed homewards to Fjordianland across the wave tossed open sea, something he was trying very hard not to think about. He was resting after a period of busy and very fruitful mental and physical endeavour and a rare flash of insight brought on by over consumption of buckie, an insight so good he had immediately celebrated its stunning completion with several more buckies, and the comfort of the bunk on which he was now carefully and cautiously sitting.

He peered about himself in the gloom in growing fear and trepidation of all things wet, watery and salty. There was not a great deal of below decks on a Viking ship, everything was very low ceilinged, or decked he supposed. Everything was cramped and crammed in. It was hard to imagine Vikings crammed in down here though, hunched and doubled over like hedgehogs made of muscles and pleated hair. It was no wonder they seemed to spend most of their time up on deck. And it smelled appallingly, the stench of herring, and not the freshest either. There was a very good reason for this he discovered which was that a large percentage of the space was taken up by barrels of the stinking stuff.

Even he was dimly aware that herring were fish and you kept fish in the sea, or next to chips, but they were surrounded by bloody sea. He went momentarily queasy at that thought. Why not just leave the fish in the sea until you needed them? It was a mystery to him. He sighed and lay back in the bunk trying to ignore the creaking of wood, drip of water, smell of herring and his head filling with all his darkest childhood fears of the deep.

It was just then that Halfwise, with an impressive amount of concentration, manoeuvred down the fortunately short ladder from the upper deck. Petty had left sorting the details of how to acquire the intimate parts of trolls to Halfy and the Captain, details were not his best area, assuming he had a best area, it was probably somewhere around his knees he thought.

“Look lively kiddo. The Captain has invited us both up on deck to join her in a feast and mead, well it's probably mead,” Halfwise announced hopping out from his people suit and onto a chair.

“Aww noo, A'm noo going anywhere till we are back on land that disnae wobble an' get yi wet.”

“Sea is not just squishy land,” Halfwise said continually perplexed by Petty's grasp of, or lack of grasp of, well, everything..

“Does it matter whit it's made o'?” Petty retorted, “A dinnae wunt tae see it, an A dinnae want it tae see me.”

“How much have you had to drink? You're not making much sense kiddo, even compared to usual. You don't want exactly who to see you?”

“A dinnae wunt the sea tae see me, if yi see whit a mean?”

“What?”

“That how it starts, thut's how they git yi, yi see the sea and thur they ur, in it, lurking. Waiting. A'm telling yi right noo, nae Kelpies guttin a ride oot a me!” Petty said defiantly.

“What in Hell's Kitchen are you talking about?”

“A Kelpie! It appears tae yi oot the watter as an alluring, beautiful, lovely horse, that yi jist cannae resist riding,” Petty explained in a hushed reverend tone.

“An Alluring horse?” Halfy said unable to stop himself from probing further this potentially treacherous train of thought into Petty's buckie-addled mind, “that you, ride?”

“Aye, wi' big broon roon' eyes, an yi luk intae thum but thur faerie eyes lukkin' back at yi- an thun yi jist cunnae help yersel, thur's nae resisting it frae there, and yi mount right up!”

“I got to say kiddo, maybe your descriptive choice of words is not helping frame this tale in the best light?”

“Thun,” Petty went on in tones of horror ignoring Halfwise, “it takes yi, thun an there! Against yir will!”

“I don't think I want to know how this ends.”

“An' doon, doon on it yi go.”

“Incredible.”

“An right doon intae the dark deep wet crevice...”

“Oh come on, really?”

Petty ploughed on, “..until finally yire utterly spent,” he finished in leaden tones of doom.

“Amazing, and you tell this tale to children like that?”

“Noo jist the bairns, everywan kens tae be aware aw the sea an' the Kelpies un getting' taken fur a ride.”

“And that's why you're scared to be on the sea? You're scared a kelpie will get onboard, turn into a beautiful irresistible, horse, and ride you death?”

“Aye, but that's jist part o' it.”

“So spill kiddo, what's the rest?”

“Wull if the Kelpies didnae get mi thurs the Blue Men oo' the Minch oot tae chase me wi thur wan big stiff blue tentacle, an' the Selkies tae nibble oan ma baws, oor A'll be tempted doon tae a deadly grotty grotto by the comely Seal Maidens, or A might meet Seonaidh,” his face went pale, well discounting the red blotchy bits which was quite a lot of it actually it went pale, “and he'll steal aww the buckie aff mi!” he cried horrified, scaring himself at the very thought.

Halfy shook his head, which was all of him, “Look kiddo I've been up on deck, I've had a good look about, I can assure you it is safe. Not to mention it is generally very wise and probably life preserving to respect and accept our Viking's, and I would like to just emphasise for your alcohol pickled brain the word, 'Viking's'”, he wiggled up his eyebrows for extra emphasis but as they were as good as invisible under all the fur the gesture was lost on Petty, “invitation to dinner, and especially when its the Viking Captain doing the inviting. Do you understand? There are no Kelpies, Seal Maidens, Selkies, or Seonaidh waiting to steal your drink, not even wee blue men made of mince..”

“Blue Men o' Minch” Petty unwisely corrected.

Halfwise bristled. And that's particularly impressive and intimidating when you can bristle all of you, “OK kiddo. Just. Let's go eat.”

“Awricht, bit oanly 'cause A'm wearing ma Life-Laster Simmit and Optional Cocktail Bar,” Petty said proudly.

“Your what?”

“A hud a buckie induced epiphany whilst yi wur wi yon Captain, A've struck the buckie gold. A've thought o' a way tae stoap folk frae drowning in a ship wreck.”

“OK, I'll bite,” Halfy said curious in spite of himself and the need not to annoy a Viking Captain whose command of swearing was so constant that he was not sure he'd be able to to tell exactly at what point she would be annoyed. Maybe the difference would be more in volume.

“Wull whunever thurs a shipwreck, whits always left floating aboot oan the surface?” Petty asked with a smug grin.

“Bits of planking, empty barrels, pizza boxes...” he stopped as Petty was staring hard at him.

“Let me rephrase thut, whit di get oan the surface efter a Scottish shipwreck?”

“Ah,” Halfwise said realisation dawning, “empty buckie bottles.”

“Exactly!” Petty cried triumphantly.

“So?” Halfwise said with a shrug of his head that quickly turned into a sag of the head as Petty stood up from the low bunk with the distinct tinkling chorus of lots of empty buckie bottles clanking together.

“A've sewed aw ma empty buckie bottles aw roon' the inside aw ma kilt, if this ship goes doon thu'll bob tae the surface an' taik me way thum. Bobs yir Uncle.”

“I am truly, truly speechless kiddo.”

“A noo!” Petty nodded in agreement immensely proud of himself before remembering to give credit where it was truly due, “its buckie inspired genius.”

“It's certainly that.”

“An A huvnae telt yi the best bit yet,” Petty said conspiratorially.

“My head is spinning in anticipation,” Halfy said and pirouetted on the spot in sarcastic demonstration of this.

With a conspiratorial whisper of excitement Petty confided, “Every fourth bottle is still full o' buckie, sae if it guts a wee tad nippie wance yir in the watter, yi cun huv a wee nip yirself tae keep the cauld oot!” he demonstrated this extra safety feature by plucking a full bottle from beneath his kilt and happily throwing his head back and drinking from it in large gulping slugs straight from the bottle. Then he sat back down triumphantly and, not remembering just how low the bunk actually was very heavily, to the accompaniment of the shattering and smashing of breaking buckie bottles, “OOOH ya bugger!” he howled and winced, “A thunk A may huv tae revise ma prototype,” he whimpered.

“I think you might be right on the dime there kiddo, or at least right on the bottle,” Halfwise agreed wincing in sympathy, “I'll see if I can find some bandages. Can't have you bleeding all over dinner, you might set a Viking off into berserker mode and we want to save that for the troll.”

A short time later, though it felt distressingly less short to Halfwise who was keenly aware a Viking Captain and her entire crew were standing on what passed for ceremony, on their arrival for dinner.
This was made even worse by the fact that it really was ceremony, not just some courtesy or custom. The Vikings believed it was bad luck if you had passengers on board not to eat the first meal on board in their company.
He was not sure how seriously the Vikings took this belief, from those he had seen on deck performing the sort of serious tasks that quickly justified their musculature nature, he figured probably pretty damn seriously. And they did not want to start their troll hunt with a crew of Vikings expecting bad luck.

“That'll have to do kiddo, come on we have to move,” Halfwise encouraged from his place back inside his person suit.

“Dus ma arse look fat in this noo?” Petty asked worriedly spinning round to display his heavily padded rear under his now bottle-less kilt.

“I don't think it matters, move it, up the ladder before we get put on the menu.”

“Aye, A'm going,” Petty said walking to the ladder with the gait of a wading duck with piles.
He grasped the rung of the ladder and began to ascend wincing at every step.

He had a sore arse, he was going to fight a troll and now he was eating with Vikings. Petty did not like Vikings much, not that he had every met many. But Scotshobbits in general did not like the Fjordians and with good reason.

The two lands were close to one another and separated only by sea. And the trouble with sea is that a train of thought developed when you lived next to it. It went like this: I wonder what's over there? Hey lads, know those boats we use for getting our herring in, why don't we build an even bigger one and lets go see if there is anything over there? Now we are here, what can we bring back to prove we were here? In fact, now we are here what can we steal and bring back from here, that will make us immensely rich and famous back there?

And as the people on the other side of the sea are thinking exactly the same thing the result is usually bloody and violent. And when the two peoples thinking this are on the one hand drunkenly violent Scots, and on the other drunkenly violent Vikings it is particularly violent and bloody.

Petty pushed open with some grunting the hatch at the ladders top which led out onto the deck above. Immediately a cold and crisp blast of salty air funnelled down the ladder from above and cooled his face.
After the herring filled hold below it did a lot to quell Petty's immediate fears of being seen by the mythologically filled sea.

Of course once he and Halfy were both on the deck he realised he was not entirely free of the herring smell. This he realised was only to be expected, it was the Vikings, every Scot knew they reeked of herring.

It was in fact the main way to tell when a Viking was viciously tearing you limb from limb whilst setting fire to your house and doing the other thing to your missus, if you had the pleasure of dying honorificly at the hands of a Fjordian Viking or a Danish Viking. The Danish ones smelled of bacon.

And now as they made their way to the rear of the ship where the Captain and those crew not involved in nautical things were waiting for them impatiently, he was surrounded by them. He eyed up the Captain, she was shorter than he expected but no less annoyed looking than he expected. Vikings always looked annoyed when they were not plundering, pillaging or doing the other thing. It was hard to discern her features, she was probably quite attractive but it was hard to tell under the huge helmet she wore, which had a set of immense horns embedded in them of exactly the sort people think Vikings don't really wear. But only people who had never found themselves on the pointy end. Her crew were equally pointy and equally annoyed, Petty was not sure he had much of an appetite for dinner now. Less so when he saw the amalgamated pile of fishy and tubed things on the erected table.

“You took your fucking time!” Captain Norc exclaimed, “we're starving.”

The various Vikings nodded and grunted in agreement at this sentiment and gave them tense stares, nothing made a Viking more tense than a long day rowing with no pillaging, plundering or any of the other and then having to wait for their dinner.

“We apologise,” Halfwise smoothed quickly, “but my wayward friend here suffered a minor, accident, that needed tended to.”

“Why, what the fuck's wrong with him?” Norc asked peering suspiciously at Petty, who returned the look by slowly turning round to show her his padded rear end.

“A've an arse full o' buckie bottle,” Petty explained badly and got the sort of stare people give when they are not sure they heard something right but fear they really did.

“Noo, noo, A didnae mean a jist shoved wan up there fur safe keeping,” Petty explained hastily, “though, mind you..”

“Kiddo!” Halfwise hissed, “No more thinking tonight, please!”

“Wul, tae cut a lang story aff, a sat oan a few bottles, arse full o' glass.”

“No fucking luck. Still look on the bright side,” Norc said waving her hand over the blubbery fishy parade on the table, “at least you can still eat. Every cunt tuck in! Buffets open!” Norc cried and a heave of large hairy hands began tearing at the squelchy food.

“When in Italiashire,” Halfwise said shrugging his people suit and trying to manoeuvre the arms to elbow his way into the table.

'Maybe I can just get away with nibbling the edge of something,' Petty thought as he far more reluctantly than Halfy- who was pointy elbow deep already and sweating from all the string pulling- made his own way towards the table.

“Here,” Norc cried rounding the table and slapping something huge,wobbling and pink and tubular in his hands, “It's fucking lovely,” she grabbed a hand full and shoved it in Petty's protesting mouth, “that's the finest fucking fryktelig slimete rør og dritt you'll ever eat!”


After the meal, and the cheerful cries of the Vikings in accompaniment to Petty regularly regurgitating large chunks of it over the side, they sat at the table with the Captain and two of her crew to discuss the next days troll hunting plans. Norc had unrolled a large map onto the table and clamped it down.

“We are right fucking here,” she said pointing to an area of sea just off the north-east coast of Scotshobbitland near some large islands, “that's the Isle of Seals,” Norc said, pointing to the large island, and then pointing out to the horizon where a large dark shape loomed in the night, made more luminescent by the fact large parts of it were on fire.

“Hey!” Petty said, realisation dawning,"That's noo the Isle o' Seals, thut's the Isle o' Wild Boars!"

“Isle of fucking Seals!” Norc bristled, “Its Fjordian!”

"Isle of bloody Wild Boars, its Scots!" Petty bristled back and winced painfully to his feet, Norc likewise rose from her seat.

It might be natural to assume that when it came to the various islands dotted about both Fjordianland and Scotshobbitland that a simple, logical solution to the issue of which belonged to whom would be considered. Perhaps simply by measuring how many nautical miles from the main land mass each island is and declaring ownership by proximity.

And in a fashion the Vikings and Scots had come to a solution that approximated this rationale. In that ownership was decided by who could send the largest bunch of crazy heavily armed people to the island first, and as it was easier to send large numbers of crazy heavily armed people to the islands closest to you first this was indeed what had happened. But some islands, the richest pickings were more contested than others.

“Calm down kiddo,” Halfwise said also rising awkwardly from his seat, he had been taken somewhat by surprise by this escalation in race tensions, "just to remind you kiddo, surrounded by Vikings, on a Viking ship, besides from what I hear that island changes hands more often than you change your vest."

“Wull aye, thut's true,” Petty conceded, "it's changed hands twice in ma lifetime.” He sat back down and the tensions eased as their boat sailed passed the flaming island in the darkness.

“Ok, tomorrow we will land here, at Veldig Kald Landsby and get our fucking goat,” Norc continued staring hard at Petty.

“A goat?” Petty queried, “Whit fir?”

“For the fucking troll of course, I thought every cunt knew that trolls can't resist a fucking goat,” she smirked, "or fucking a goat. Either will do us, we just want to lure one out their cave.”

“Then whut?”

"Then we distract it while you get in and grab what you fucking need."

"Huad oan, whit di yi mean distract it? A thought yi were goona kill it first."

"Have you ever seen a fucking ice troll?" Norc asked frowning, "no, I didn't shitting think so or you wouldn't be fucking asking. Do you want to know why this recipe is so fucking rare?"

"Um," Petty said, "ok, why?"

"Because its really fucking hard to kill an ice troll!" Norc yelled, "best we can do is keep the big cunt busy, if you want its bollock, you're going to have to go in there and fucking well get it."

"Wull actually, whun yi put it like thut A'm no sure A actually do really wunt it thut bad," Petty began.

"Buckie for life," Halfy whispered into his ear, "Buckie for life kiddo."

Petty whimpered in consternation, "Ach, richt, wull gie it a goe," he conceded thinking he was going to regret this, a lot.

“Tomorrow,” Norc said rising and folding up the map and raising a goblet of mead, “we rip the fucking balls off a Troll!” and she grinned into the night, ”And then you'll pay us a shit load of cash for it!”

Petty grimaced at that and clutched his sporran close. He stared out into the empty dark night, empty that was apart from the burning islands of course, and contemplated what fate awaited him in foreign Fjordianlands. And how much exactly of his buckie money it was going to cost him.

if you non-fyordians want an easter egg, type "fryktelig slimete rør og dritt" into google translate.

Halfwise bristled. And that's particularly impressive and intimidating when you can bristle all of you,


Great story

{{Thanks folks!  Halfy there are a couple other little linguistic jokes in there too if anyone can spot them -might be slightly easier for Fjordians to spot though its not in Fjordian lingo bits) }}

Petty shivered, despite the huge fur cloak he had gratefully wrapped about himself before disembarking the ship at the fishing village of Veldig Kald Landsby, he was still cold. He was not sure of what creature the cloak was made, even more sure he probably wouldn't want to know, and only reasonably sure it was not still alive. Sadly this could not be said for the seeming hundreds of other things living and crawling within it. But it was still better than freezing to death.

Veldig Kald Landsby was a cold town, not unfriendly just literally cold- small hints came to Petty's attention as they trudged through knee high snow up what passed for the main street of this fact. One of those was the snow, which was everywhere and everywhere deep. The other things were icicles, which hung everywhere and at least gave some hope to thoughts that maybe it thawed a bit sometimes, until that is you noticed that the icicles had icicles on them. Thaws it seemed were rather brief in this one inn town. And his breath, which hung before him every time he breathed out in a thick alcoholic smog.

At least however the village did have an inn which Halfwise had surprisingly insisted they visit before embarking on their troll hunting exodus. So their entire party, which besides himself and Halfwise consisted of Captain Norc and six of her best men who were to make up the hunting party made for the inn. They had not taken much persuasion that a stop at the inn for a libation was a good idea, and neither it had to be said had Petty, in fact it was the first bit of good news so far.

Petty heaved his legs through the final heaps of snow before the Den Store Jævla Dansende Silden Inn. It was a big inn sign. It was topped with a thick layer of ice and snow, Petty had no idea what it meant and the gaudy illustration, which appeared to depict a large fish of some sort, standing upright on its tail, holding a cane in one fin and wearing atop its head what appeared to Petty to be a top hat with added traditional Viking horns, and for some reason it was also eating someone, their little legs sticking out its sharp toothed mouth with tiny vivid spurts of blood bright against the snow cover around them. This helped Petty in no way whatsoever discern anything about the inn, but inns meant buckie and that was good enough for him.

Inside the inn was low ceilinged with thick dark heavy wood beams, all the buildings Petty had seen so far were low and he was not sure if this was for aesthetic reasons, practicality, or just because the weight of all the snow on top of everything was slowly squashing it all down.

There was also a large roaring fire which Petty was happy to see, and a long bar made of old barrels that he was even happier to see. There were not many people in the inn this early in the morning, but of the few who were some immediately stood out. The first two were at the bar, smoking pipes, drinking from large mead mugs and seemingly engaged in an excitable debate, they also had quite a lot of equipment with them, most notable some sort of palantir device Petty had never seen before that stood upon a tripod. Expensive and professional equipment.

The other notable figure was sitting in a nook of the inn, with his long legs before him on a stool, he was smoking a long pipe and his head was hooded but sharp eyes glinted beneath it and watched them openly and blatantly.

“OK kiddo, you get the drinks in,” Halfwise suggested, “I just need to go talk to those two,” he nodded in the direction of the two men at the bar.

“Whit fir?” Petty demanded, not liking the suggestion at all that the first round would be his.

“Because I invited them to join us,” Halfwise replied.

Petty considered this and decided to try again, “Whit fir?”

“Look kiddo do you want more or less help in trying to part an ice troll from one of his family heirlooms?”

“Mair?” Petty hazarded

“Exactly, “ Halfy beamed back through the fur, and turning strode off towards the two men before Petty could ask too many questions he did not want to give detailed answers too, not least because there wasn't time given Petty's rate of mental absorption, where some people were a sponge Petty was a rock with holes in it.

“Seven fucking mjød for us then!” Norc said slapping her hand on Petty's shoulder and temporarily making him about half his normal size under the impact, which was not as bad still as he felt the impact upon his sporran was going to be on this venture.

With a shudder of realisation he had no way out of stumping up for everyone's drinks he approached the bar and waved at the barman, who was down the other end serving Halfwise and the two strangers more drinks. And Halfwise was paying for them, with his money! He gulped and patted his ever dwindling sporran in consternation, normally the huge bulging sporran gave him great comfort as he ran his hands through its luxurious badger-arse hair covering, but now it was if his sporran had been forced on a starvation diet, growing ever thinner, held hostage by Halfwise's promises of a buckie filled future.

The barman finally saw him waving and approached, “Seven o' yer meads and fur buckies, cheers mate,” Petty ordered.

“No fucking buckie,” the barman responded bluntly, “We got mjød, sild mjød, mjød and sild, sild and mjød, double sild and mjød, double mjød and sild," he took a breath, "and for the children a mjød milkshake, with extra sild. Which do you want?"

Petty with a certain anticipation of doom replied, "An' whit exactly is sild?"

"In your shitty tongue," the barman frowned in thought, "a sort of fish."

"This fish,” Petty said with dread, “it widnae happen tae be herring wid it?"

The barman clapped his hand to his forehead, "Yes, thats the fucking word for it, herring. I've a shit memory I'm afraid, and one barrel of herring rolls out the other as they say."

Petty sighed, "A thunk A'l jist huve the plain mead."

With impressive speed the barman drew off eight large flagons of mead, "there you fucking go, our famous and renowned mjød" he said as Petty reluctantly counted out his Forumshire crowns into the barman's hands, "made from our finest sild." Petty's shoulders sank, of course it was.

He glanced up as Norc and her crew left the fire to collect their mead and noticed again the obvious figure trying to go unnoticed in the nook, he turned back to the barman, "wan ither thing," he nodded at the man, "whose the dodgy looking cunt in the corner?"

"Oh him?" the barman retorted with a snort, "that's Ringo den sjenerøse begavet hvor det teller, the bane of all trolls, they call him den isete testikkelsamleren. He comes in every so fucking often on his hunts, tells tall tales about his skills and how many bollocks he's cut off trolls, though no-one ever sees him doing it mind. Or believes half his fucking tales, good teller of tales mind you, I will give him that."

"Bane o' aw trolls is he?" Petty said staring right back at this Ringo, who from the glint beneath the hood was likewise staring at Petty, or had two glass eyes, "Goat the patter but full o' shit then?"

"We think so," the barman nodded in agreement spitting into an empty mug and wiping it round with a cloth before placing it back on the shelf behind him.

Just then Halfy lurched up and plonked some more of Petty's buckie money down onto the bar, "same again for my two friends there," he nodded to the two men with the tripod, then turning to Petty as the barmen went to serve them he said, "everything's set up, just one more recruit to get."

The two men downed their drinks at the bars end, collected up their tripod and gear and headed for the door, "soon be ready," one of them called cheerily to Halfwise as they went by.

"Ready fir whit?" Petty asked suspiciously.

"Don't worry about it kiddo."

"But A am worrying aboot it, A didnae ken whit's going oan half the time."

"Do you ever?" Halfy couldn't help himself enquiring.

"Wull noo," Petty admitted, "bit usually thut's ist no kenen whit time o' day it is, or day o' the week, or whit folks ur oan aboot, or why Farmer Dave's sae upset whun A'm helping oot oan his farm wi the late night fertiliser on ma way hame frae the pub. It disnae normally invulve no kenen why I'm in bloody Fjordianland, freezing ma baws aff trying to get a trolls frozen baws aff, thut wull probably kill me," he complained, "nor dae A see how it gits me Paw's buckie factory aff Pretty."

"Wheels within wheels," Halfy replied cryptically.

"Aye but whose drivin' the bloody cart?"

"I am kiddo."

"Oh aye very gud, and A'm picking up the bloody fare," he replied crabbitly, "and speaking o' ma every dwindling sporran, whose the uther recruit an' how much is it going tae cost me?"

"Fellow called Ringo, and a lot," Halfwise replied.

Petty groaned, "A ken him, the barman says he's full o' shite."

"I don't think so kiddo, I asked him here, well paid him to come here, " Halfwise conceded as Petty groaned some more and clutched at his sporran, "lets go see if he is full of it or not shall we?"

Reluctantly and grumbling to himself Petty followed Halfy's straight legged walk across the inn to the dark corner where Ringo still sat concealed in the shadows and in his hood, which he pulled back as they approached to reveal a handsome face with tousled dark air and a steady glint in his grey eyes.

"Well you have been very generous for a Scotshobbit," Ringo observed dryly looking up, "Mr Petty McTyrant."

"Hey, how di yi ken ma name?" Petty demanded, "A've neir set eyes on yi afore noo."

"Halfwise told me," Ringo replied with a shrug, "he asked me here, well paid for my time. I understand you have a troll needs dealt with. If so then you will find no one better, I know these trolls and their ways. If you have enough money and can pay me, then I will help you get your troll bollock."

"Ah didnae ken," Petty grumbled, "how di wi ken he isnae jist full o' shit? If he wis really a great troll hunter he'd luk wull, less like an unnerwear model and mair like a richt bastard, if you ken whit a mean?"

Ringo rose, tall and commanding suddenly to his feet "Because Mr McTyrant, if I was just full of shit, I would not have these would I?" he took from a large pouch at his side a chain of four shrivelled, dried out round leathery like objects, "not much use to you now for a recipe are they? But not all bollocks are good to eat. If you let me, and pay me enough, I will help you find a fresher pair."

"Ah still say he's full o' shit," Petty said defiantly, "Those might noo evun be real trolls baws, they could jist be shrivelled old melons fir aw wi ken. Whit yi tae say tae that? "

"That you are a complete idiot, but your companion already warned me of this," Ringo replied flatly.

"Hey!" Petty said turning offended to Halfwise.

"Look kiddo, trust me on this one, we need him."

Just then one of the two men Halfwise had already recruited came back in, he now wore not only a thick cloak but a small rounded hat, it had what looked like a card stuck in its band on which icicles were already forming, it read "Presz" and in smaller writing in red around the band of the hat it read: "the wearor of this hat is owned by Pure Publcations.” Pure Publications Petty realised meant they were from the newspapers, and judging by the fact just the hat alone had three typos on it it must be the News of the Pure, the biggest tabloid in the land. Why on Forumshire would Halfy want them along to hunt trolls? It was yet another mystery to add to the ever increasing pile.

"All ready outside, Ray's good to go," he called to Halfy, who acknowledged with a manipulated wave of his right arm, "Thanks Norman. Ok everyone, lets go."

"Whit noo?" Petty demanded.

"Palantir-op," Halfy replied with a grin and led Petty outside.

What awaited them outside the inn was a gathering of thirteen of the villages children, probably Petty thought this was in fact all of the villages children. Much to Petty's horror two things then happened, Halfwise gave each of the children a crown and they took off their heavy cloaks and put on what seemed to be ragged and dirty clothes over their normal ones that the two press men, Ray and Norman produced from among their equipment. The second thing was the arrival out of the inn of the barman with two very large trays containing thirteen mjød milkshakes, the children took one each and Halfy paid the barman, again with his money, and then Halfwise sidled up to him and hissed, "I'm going to need more money soon kiddo to pay everyone," he smiled cheerily into Petty's horrified face, who felt like he was in a surreal nightmare he was being forced to pay for.

Ray and Norman set up their tripod with its glassy dark palantir pointed at the now rather squalid looking huddle of children, "right if you'd just like to get in shot," Norman called.

"That's your cue kiddo," Halfy said nudging Petty, "Go stand in the middle of the children."

"Whit fir?"

"Because if you don't it will have been a complete waste of all your buckie money that I've spent setting this up," Halfy replied with a wiggle of is furry brows.

With no idea why any of this was happening Petty went and stood among the children bewildered, "Everyone smile, " Ray, who was behind the palantir called and there was a sudden flash of white light, then the two press men gathered at the rear of the palantir and stared into it, they shook their heads in displeasure and exchanged a few brief words, "can we have the thinnest and least well fed looking of the children to the front, and can we get some more dirt on their faces," Ray suggested as Norman manoeuvred the children around by how wretched they looked and the process happened again complete with flash of light. This time the two men seemed much happier.

"Excellent, splendid, we will get this right off, " Norman enthused whilst Ray drew out a compass, oriented the tripod in the direction of Needlehole and peered into the palantir after a few moments he said, "there we go, that will be in the evening edition." They packed up the equipment and the children gladly changed back into their own clothes and dispersed around the still completely bewildered Petty.

"Right better get our goat," Halfwise said briskly.

"No goat," Ringo put in sternly, he turned to stare at Petty, "people are much better bait."

"Noo huad on.." Petty began but Halfy interrupted, "no goat? Mmm,” he stared at the press men, “I have an idea."

Shortly later, with some expensive negotiation with Norc and her Viking crew Petty found himself standing holding onto a goat by a tether, for added effect the press men had also lit a large fire behind him. He had been positioned so as to look like he was sheltering the animal from the oncoming Vikings. And this moment of ham heroism was captured by the press for no reason Petty could discern as too was a second pose of him apparently, and very unlikely, having triumphantly held off seven fierce Vikings and saved the goat, again why he had no idea. The press men then packed everything away and put it all onto a small sturdy shaggy coated pony.

By now the morning was wearing to mid-morning and the sun was technically up, though it was mysteriously still more or less darkish, and this was Petty suspected because the sun he had noted did not so much rise here as just seem to slide lazily along the horizon.

"It's time, we should go if we want to reach the nearest hunting grounds by night fall," Ringo sad pointing up a narrow trail that led towards mountains which needless to say what not just snow capped but snowed everything.

Petty pulled his cloak close about himself and trudging after Ringo through the snow thought to himself, “Here A go agin, an still A've noo a scooby whit fir," When they had got what they had come for and were safely back in familiar lands he fervently hoped he might work it out. Of course he also hoped he'd still be alive to do so by then as there was still the not small matter of acquiring what they needed from its presumably very reluctant to let it go owner. He decided it was best not to think of that for now when he could panic about it at the time.

Their now sizeable party consisting of himself, Halfy, Ringo in the lead, Norc and her six Vikings and the two press men bringing up the rear with their pony headed out of the village and had attracted a crowd of gawpers along the way, who didn't get much excitement normally outside of the occasional two-headed herring catch, the party took to the high pass and set off in search of a troll bollock much to Petty's continued disbelief. And of course to no-ones surprise it almost immediately began to snow.